The Buttered Fingers
by MyPartnerInCrime
Summary: Blaine had one rule. He would never stay in one place for very long. A few days and he moved on. But is he willing to bend the rule for a young man working in a bar that puts garlic croutons in his soup? Can he convince Blaine to stop running away?


"Bloody arse, pissing trump-buckets," grumbled Blaine through chattering teeth as he walked through another seemingly endless field, the frozen grass crunching under his heavy boots. "'Couple of miles' my arse."

He had been slightly dubious at the time, asking directions from a haggard looking farmer with no front teeth whose every other word seemed to be "Arr!", but he was desperate for shelter and a warm meal. It was starting to get very dark and Blaine was just about ready to resign himself to setting up his tent in the next field when he saw lights in the distance.

Blaine grinned with delight, moving his legs faster with the prospect of food and sleep. "Man, I hope they have chips. Love chips. Or soup! Soup would feel goooood in my belly right now." Blaine hummed to himself, passing the outermost houses of the small town, keeping his eyes peeled for a pub of some kind.

The first one he came across had a wooden sign, swinging slightly in the frosty breeze, that read: _The Buttered Fingers_. He stared at it for a moment before chuckling to himself and pushing the heavy door open, sighing happily as the warmth of inside washed over him. Once he had composed himself enough to look around he noticed that there were a few people in the pub, groups of all ages happily chatting as soft music played in the background, but not enough to make it feel crowded.

An old man was just leaving as Blaine entered and he tipped his hat in thanks as Blaine held the door open for him. He turned and made his way to the bar, careful not to knock anyone with his large backpack as he went.

"Alrigh' son?" asked the burly-looking man behind the bar as he wiped a glass with a greying rag.

"Yeah, hi," replied Blaine slightly breathlessly, settling himself on a bar stool and shoving his bag down by his feet.

"What can I get you?"

"Oh, er, just a pint I guess. And could I get some food?" asked Blaine, feeling his stomach churn happily at the thought.

"Sure, anything in particular?"

"I don't suppose you have any soup?" Blaine pulled off his gloves, rubbing his numb fingers together.

"I'll see what I can do," chuckled the man, pouring a pint for Blaine and calling out behind him, "Hey, Kurt! Do we have any soup?"

"Sorry?" came a high voice, and Blaine watched as a head popped round the doorway behind the bar and breathed in sharply, unable to look away as the burly man repeated his question.

"I think so, I'm pretty sure we still have some of Carole's tomato soup left." And the head disappeared again, leaving Blaine staring at the empty doorway.

"You're not from around here, are you?" asked the man, breaking Blaine from his trance.

"Er, no," Blaine shook his head.

"Looking for a place to stay?"

"Yeah, actually."

"We have a room spare, if you're interested?" offered the man, tapping the 'Vacancies' sign at the side of the bar.

"That would be brilliant," said Blaine with a large grin. After discussing prices Blaine handed over a small wad of money in return for a small bronze-coloured key. "Thanks, much appreciated."

"No problem, son."

"Soup?" came that angelic-sounding voice again, as the young man returned with a bowl of deep orange soup.

"Right here," the man gestured to Blaine, who suddenly realised he was staring.

"Thank you," said Blaine quietly as the soup was set in front of him, looking down in attempt not to seem creepy.

"You're very welcome."

By the time Blaine had looked up again the young man was gone. He cleared his through slightly and picked up the spoon beside the bowl. But before he could dive in he stopped. Delicately floating on top of his soup were a few garlic croutons in the shape of a smiley face.

The soup was delicious, Blaine found himself savouring every mouthful. As his spoon clattered to the bottom of his bowl the burly man reappeared with a grin.

"That was _awesome_," sighed Blaine happily, leaning back with a contented smile on his face.

"Glad you thought so," said the man gruffly.

Blaine paid for the soup and the beer, yawning and scrunching his eyes up as he did so. "I might head to bed. It's been a long day. A long week really. Actually more like a month. I guess you could even say a-"

"Okay, okay, kid," laughed the man. "Yours is the second on the left once you're up the stairs," he said, gesturing to the heavy door beside the bar that Blaine had seen a couple of people go through throughout the evening.

"Thanks," said Blaine, heaving his bag back over his shoulder.

"I'm Burt by the way," introduced the man, holding a hand out.

"Blaine," replied Blaine. "Lovely to meet you, and thanks again."

"No problem."

The room was nice, Blaine decided, dropping his bag onto the bed. It was small and square with a wooden floor, a wooden bed frame and the walls were painted a light, neutral colour. He wandered over to the slightly chipped radiator, groaning as he rested his hands on the warm metal. He shrugged his coat off and draped it across the radiator so it would be warm the next morning in case he decided to head off early.

That was the only rule Blaine kept to. He wouldn't stay in one place for very long. That was the whole point of this. That and to get away. Away from his family, his job and his pathetic life.

He dug around in his bag until he found his pyjamas, pulling them out with a bit of difficulty, and swiftly got changed. The bed was soft, if slightly creaky and the duvet was warm, if a little worn.

Blaine easily fell into a deep sleep, unconsciously bunching up some of the duvet to hug to his chest.

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**Short start, but I will continue if people are interested.  
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**Thank you so much for reading this far, you gorgeous person! =D  
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**xx  
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